meme,

I just started reading your wonderful trip report today - I've had Olympic fever for the past week and haven't had the time to come and visit fodorland.

I love how honest you are about your feelings while traveling alone...and how brave you were for not giving into how sad you were in the beginning of your trip.

This doesn't really count as a solo trip, but on my first trip to europe with my DS, I had finally arrived in Paris after months, and months and planning only to be...terrified. Scared of the big international city, and like you, I really felt like crying the beginning, especially since it wasn't the type of experience everyone else seemed to have. It's good for new ones to hear that traveling can be scary sometimes, but you'll always get over it and enjoy yourself immensely.

Can't wait for your next post :)

mebe:

Okay, just read your report.

Wow. It brought back so many memories of Rome. Though I was traveling with my mom, we had our share of getting lost and turned around on those streets in the via Corso area, so I totally feel your pain!

Can't wait to read more...and what did "uno etto" turn out to be?

Enjoying your adventure and writing style. I too took my older daughter and left the husband home with a barely 7 month old baby. As heart-breaking as it might have been it allowed me to wake up at 3 in the morning for the next 6 months. The bond with my daughter got better and stronger as we moved from Rome to Paris to Bruges.

Uno etto is 125 grams or 1/4 lb.

Un etto is 100 g.

Hi Mebe,
I loved your trip report a couple years ago and this one is (amazingly!) even more beautifully written. You have some serious writing talent, my dear! Thank you for bringing Rome into my dreary office... reading your report made me feel as if I were there.

Hey Texas -- I've read a few of your trip reports (and really enjoyed them) so thank you for the compliment.

Anna -- whether I'm alone or with hubby, I also freak out once I get to my destination. I'm intimidated by new cities, new cultures,so when I travel those first few moments I panic and think "what was in your head when you decided to come here," lol. But I never regret the adventure. :)

Shelley - thanks as well!

About the uno etto -- I think the problem was that they weren't used to people ordering only one etto of pizza. The next pizza I ate, I ordered two, and no strange look.

One etto = 100 grams, which is about 4 ounces

Mebe: At least you knew the right words to say. When I went to order some pizza on my first day, in the Campo, I just sort of held up my hands about six inches apart and said, "Pizza?"

PS: I also screwed up <u>every time </u> by getting my food first, and then paying for it. Duh! ;)

So this morning I got to say to one boy &quot;Don't eat the starfish! Spit it out!&quot; And I believe that is a first :)

And if those crazy symbols show up, I apologize. My Fodor's is acting up...

Back to the trip...

Via Corso Vittorio Emanuele is a traffic congested exhaust haven. I began my day with a blue sky and a lovely stroll down this main artery of central Rome. And I’m exhausted. My feet ache, my head aches and my eyes are swollen. I almost stayed in the hotel just to stare out of my window. I was annoyed with walking. I hated maps because I can’t read them. Me, a daughter of a map maker and granddaughter of a navigator who worked for NASA, and I can’t read a map to save my life. Eventually I pulled myself from my pessimistic, dreary mood (today is a new day!) and headed for St. Peters for my 9:15 Scavi tour.

The piazza at St. Peters was empty except for a few other early-risers and I flew through security without a wait and into the cathedral. St. Peters is the grandest of all cathedrals and took my breath away for a second time. Goosebumps erupted all over my arms. The air filled with singing from a small service in a small chapel on the left. I wandered over and immediately began to weep. Great, hear I go again…but I looked over and another woman had also been drawn into the moment and tears stained her face, so at least I wasn’t the only one.

Another service began in the center chapel and again St. Peters flooded with sound. A gentle hymn sung only by women, echoed through the elaborate marble. A few late nuns ran as respectfully as possible, head bowed, black skirts whipping behind them, to join the other ladies. The organ and the singing, the beams of light cutting through the air: it was tranquil and extraordinary. I was actually tempted to skip my Scavi tour! It was that intoxicating. But thankfully, I pulled my head out of those spiritual clouds and went to start my tour.

I showed my email reservation to the cutest Swiss Guard, who flattered me, married mother of three who needs an ego boost once in awhile, with some shameless flirting. If you could take him out of those horrendous strips and put him into an Armani polizia uniform….I might not have come home. Just kidding, really…I’d never leave my husband – or kids! I swear :)

Luanna, our guide was Italian perfection. She was petite with thick brown curls tumbling down her back, a little black tank top and jeans with an ideal fit to for her ideal butt. And, she wore black strappy high heels. That is impressive, I thought.

We entered the crypt where she gave us a brief history lesson, then trekked us across the crypt, through the stream of tourists leaving St. Peters, to a black iron gate and a narrow staircase leading down. I felt so special getting to go down that staircase! I’ve been dying to go down sneaky staircases ever since Mont St. Michel in France. Other tourists jumped the stream and tried to follow us, but Luanna rejected them. It was great. I felt very special and childish, thinking a sing-song “nah-nah!”

A sliding glass door sealed us into a dimly lit underground world of brick walls and tombs. Luanna instructed us to not touch anything and don’t lean against the brick. But people in the group still had to do it. Luanna told us to follow her and one woman just had to peak around the opposite corner. Luanna yelled out, don’t go that way or you will fall into a hole! Yeah, I thought, you need to listen to Luanna! She led us along the earthen path, up the original hill of the old cemetery, giving us turns to peek into the arched tombs to look at mosaics or tombstones.

About halfway through the tour, as our walkway became narrower and smaller, I sensed the weight of that massive cathedral looming over me. The musty smell of dirt and brick and death seeped in and I needed fresh, alive air. Being a California girl, I stopped listening to Luanna and worried about earthquakes. St. Peters would crumble, crushing me in marble rubble with strangers, burying me with these tombs…

With a few deep breaths and determination to not flip out, I stuffed my claustrophobia and focused on Luanna and her rendition of the story of St. Peter. I saw his supposed bones, but the mosaics from the other less famous tombs were my highlight.
The tour ended back in the crypt, with its marble encased bodies, which are lackluster after you spent an hour in an underground cemetery with real dirt and actual bones, suffocated by air that I’m certain, carries particles of dead people.

My goal was to leave and head straight up the stairs to climb the dome. But I was distracted by a little ogling at the guard …one last time…and I missed the steps and couldn’t go back in. Oh well, I’ll just walk around and go through security again. Hey, where did all these people come from? Oh. My. God. Is this the line for St. Peters? The line looped around the circumference of the piazza and was several people wide. I was stunned into stopping. If these people arrived here two hours earlier, they would have walked right in, and now they will stand in the sun for the afternoon. Unbelievable – I finally understood why people complained about the lines in Rome.

After berating myself for not completing the “climb St. Peter’s Dome” goal, I found a tacky tourist shop (which I love and are everywhere) and bought a shot glass to replace the one I bought on my honeymoon in Amsterdam, which my lovely daughter shattered earlier this year. I satisfied my hunger by ordering “due etto” of zucchini pizza at a shop near the Vatican. No funny looks! But then the guy started talking to me in rapid Italian – huh? I said, with a perplexed eyebrow raise. And he did it again, long, rapid, slightly annoyed sentences. Non capsico, I answered, I don’t understand. “You want it hot?” he replied again, very annoyed this time. Si, I said, equally annoyed that he was annoyed. I obviously don’t speak Italian, why the complicated sentences? A simple “caldo?” or “hot?” would work.

While crossing the Bridge of Angels I noticed – no street vendors. No blankets covered in fake purses or guys pushing cheap trinkets in your face. It was same at the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps. I also noticed polizia – everywhere. And I assume there is a correlation. Therefore, crossing the bridge was actually enjoyable. I could enjoy the view up the Tiber, study the statues, and bask in the blue sky…

I gave a couple “directions” to the Pantheon. First they asked if I spoke English.
Yes, I said. The woman looked so relieved, there was hope! But she didn’t know who she was relying on. Do you know where the Pantheon is? I looked at their map, saw the circle shape and said, “it’s right here on your map” (I was feeling like such a smart ass) “But honestly, I don’t know where we are, so I’m not sure I can help you. I can’t read maps, I’m perpetually lost. But I’m walking that way (and pointed in a general direction) hoping to run into Piazza Navona. Good luck!

I‘d come to peace (temporarily, at least) with my lack of map reading skills and went with the flow of Rome, going where the streets wanted to take me. I bought a wooden puzzle of Europe for my daughter, hoping to instill in her my curiosity of the world. I noticed window boxes, brilliant pink bougainvillea cascading down brilliant orange stucco. My new, relaxed “what ever, I’m in Rome” attitude leads me home.

Buying train tickets for Florence was the next task for the day. Not that big of a deal, but I tend to become an anxious mess when it comes to schedules and official travel business. Traveling solo meant I couldn’t shove the buying tickets responsibly onto my hubby.

The American Express office is near the Spanish Steps. By the way, at this point of the trip, the anxious, pessimistic me, has taken over and driving the “it will work” me, insane. Anxious me worried about every aspect of leaving tomorrow on the train to Florence. And my mental conversation went something like this:

What if I can’t find Amex? What if they are closed? What if they won’t sell me tickets? What if I have to go to train station for tickets, and wait in the wrong line for hours, and then have my purse stolen and lose all my CC’s and passport and then I have to go the Embassy, and Aaron will have to call them to verify my identity, and he won’t be home –
Okay. Shut up already. Let’s begin with finding the Amex and then see what happens - Okay?
(Deep breath). Okay. But I know I’ll waste hours being lost, because I’m ALWAYS LOST, and then if I do find Amex, they will be closed, I’ll wasted precious time in Rome and won’t make it to Trastevere this afternoon and…

Get the picture? Can you believe my husband willingly travels with me? I didn’t realize how obnoxious my nervous-nature is, until I became trapped with me.

But I did make it, because of my Rick Steve’s Guide Book. Now, I’m a fan of his, but I will not be seen in public with his book. That turquoise and yellow cover stands out horribly. So, I had my daughter paint a water-color masterpiece, as only a four year old can, and used it as a book cover. I cruised through the streets with my guidebook disguised as a modern art book. I proudly carried it, always rechecking street names, while other people stared thinking “what is she looking at?” I felt so sneaky.

Instead of walking the same worn path from my hotel to the Spanish Steps, I went a bit north-west and cut over. This area of Rome was quieter, almost tourist free, with real Romans living their daily lives: drinking at cafes, carrying bags of groceries, bringing their children home from school. It was a wonderful change from the almost Disneyland atmosphere of Piazza Navona/Panthon/Spanish Steps area.

And I made it, without getting lost, once. YAHOO!! And I found the American Express office (hard to miss with gigantic neon sign that says AMERICAN EXPRESS) – another YAHOO!! And it was open. Take that, you pessimistic nervous- wreck self! But alas, the reservation computers were down. Of course they were. And they will be back up in an hour - Is that a 60 minute hour or an Italian hour?

Fed up with fighting sweaty crowds, I headed towards the Borghese Gardens. Up those bright, hot Spanish Steps, people sprawled across them, looking exhausted, bored and overheated. If they’d kept climbing, within minutes they would have experienced a fresh breeze flipping through tree branches, lush grass and breathtaking views of Rome; a mini oasis.

Memories of my last visit here floated through my mind: walking hand in hand with my hubby, having a romantic moment down a shady lane, while our little girl skipped ahead. I saw other couples entangled in each other on the same lane and it was too much. Weepiness was seeping in.

A helicopter circled several times, a lower altitude with each pass. When it was low enough to read POLIZIA written across the side, a few of us exchanged raised eyebrows, bugged eyes and then glanced back up to see the helicopter circle once again, whipping up the trees. Hmmm…I wonder if someone is hiding out in the bushes. I glanced in the foliage as I headed out, expecting to see beady little eyes glaring back.

Along the road near the gardens, more polizia blocked the roads. What is going on, I thought. Dark cars zipped very suave, darkly dressed men up and down via Corso and more of the side streets that lead to Augustus’s Mausoleum (poor Augustus, his mausoleum is in such ruin, and right next to a bus station. Hey – I was lost here last night!). I expected something huge to happen with each step I took, but nothing.

I wasted the rest of my hour walking to Piazza de Popolo. Then back to the Amex and bought my tickets. She asked what time I wanted to leave tomorrow, and I wanted 7:30 am. Are you sure, she asked, like I was nuts, like NOBODY took the train that early. Yes, I answered. And nervous-nellie me immediately fretted about my decision and the inner battle raged all the way to my favorite pizza place for dinner.

Tonight’s entr&eacute;e was a creamy potato, arugula and tomato pizza, due etto, and another Fanta. It was fantastic, and everyone walking by, all hot and hungry, stared at my outdoor meal with envy.

I finished the night with a visit to St. Ignatius Cathedral and with its eye-popping 3-D Baroque ceiling. I stared up forever, absolutely sure they had a few mannequins suspended from the ceiling; no way that was all paint. But it was. Incredible.

And with a double scoop of gelato (tiramisu and mint) I walked back to my room, packed and nervously waited for my adventure in Florence to begin.

Wonderful, mebe! We have Scavi tickets for November after trying for the past 4 trips and I am so excited!

Congrats Texas!

You'll love it.

~Mebe

dear Mebe,

I forgot you were going to Florence.

I've not been yet but my kids have. We are having a girls weekend there this fall. My neighbor (she speaks Italian and goes often) and the 3 of us.

Can't wait to hear what you did.

Isn't starfish an expensive sushi delicacy somewhere in the world?

gruezi

Lol, Gruezi! Thankfully, this starfish was very dead.

About Florence -- I think fall is a great time to visit. In May, it was CROWDED. If I ever return, it will be in the off-season.

~mebe

mebe,

I about died laughing reading the conversation you had with yourself as your were trying to get to Amex - I'm pretty sure we are related(I have a hard time with maps too)...every sentence that came out of your mouth would be the exact thing to cross my mind if I was traveling alone.

My DS sort of is my sounding board for all my anxieties about traveling, and it was only after reading your post today that I realized I really, really need to thank her for slapping me back to reality on our Europe trips - and yes, sometimes the slapping is literal :)

Oh mebe, I am laughing and almost crying reading today's post. Your style of writing is fantastic, so don't worry about not being able to read maps. Maps I can read and understand but I would trade that talent for your writing skills. The thoughts going through your head regarding AMEX and the train tickets, too precious! And the Swiss Guard, hmmm, I understand. And your husband, yeah, yeah..so you got lost but he is dealing with the three little ones..as though you don't every day. LOL, I love your trip report!

Thanks Anna and Love ~

I'm glad you enjoy my honesty -- I sometimes I wonder if I say too much :)

~mebe

Hi mebe,

I too am enjoying your report very much.

I will never forget my first overseas business trip several years ago, where I left my DH and 3 kids for 2 weeks whilst I went to Milan, Paris and London. I had been so excited about the prospect of going on this &quot;glamourous&quot; trip that I forgot about missing my loved ones. That is until I arrived at my destination. After 24 hours travelling from Sydney to Milan I arrived very tired and emotional. I walked into my hotel room and literally balled my eyes out. A few minutes later a cleaner came in and told me it was a beautiful day and I should go out and enjoy myself. Thanks to her I did and Milan has always been a special place to me because I realised that I could just do whatever I felt like and not have to think about anyone else- a feeling I had not really had for my 12 years of being a mother.

My kids BTW are pretty well adjusted and have no visible scars from being left. Mind you a few expensive presents helped. They couldn't wait unitl I went again (and I did).

mebe, thanks for following up with a trip report! It is always fabulous to close the loop.

I remember posting on your original thread about things to do... and the debate about what is overkill. When you get through with the travel details, I would like to know: how much did you do ?

- did you leave notes? food? everything in writing?
- did anyone go to the ER while you were gone ?
- were they mad at you? or did they pick right up ?
- did the other adults survive ? do they now think you are an angel ?

As a sahm, I understand the angst about it all. It does get easier, I promise.

more importantly: Are you authorized to go again?????

aussie - what a great story.

I never expected to spend my first few moments in Italy crying in my hotel room -- especially after dreaming about a quiet moment for years! It is nice to know I'm not the only one.

surfmom - lol.

-No visits to the ER.
-No notes, no wrapped presents. But I did buy her (more like DH!) some new DVD's as a surprise.
-I talked to her once on the phone and she called me a &quot;poo-poo head&quot;
-And all three kids greated me with open arms and sticky hands. I have a hilarious picture, I'll have to figure out how to post it.

And yes, sometime in my future, I will go solo again. :)

My kids are waking up and my few moments of quiet have ended...hopefully no starfish this morning.

~mebe

p.s. I will make sure to talk about the kids/hubbys experience in length in the future.

mebe,
You're a natural and hilarious writer. I haven't laughed that hard in awhile. Most fun trip report I've ever read. Do you have a Kindle yet? If so, you ought to write a Kindle book.

That Rick Steves Modern Art book, cover by artist daughter, was a riot.

Many thanks! When you get to Florence portion, I have a high recommendation for an alternative not far from where you were staying.

Will we be seeing your photos also? Including your self-portraits that so interested the museum guard?

You're one gutsy gal.

- Andrys
--
http://www.pbase.com/andrys/italy

Mebe - you're killing me with anticipation! I have been travelling to Florence twice a year for the last 7 years - other places, too, but always there - and this will be the first time, in October, that I will go alone. Granted I know the city well and needless to say love it, but I am anxious to hear of your adventures there. May I suggest that next time you follow your heart and stay in Oltrarno? There's a wonderful place, fantastically located, where you will be well looked after in superb surroundings: www.florencepalace.it. You won't think the room is small and you're steps from loads of restaurants, and a short walk to the centro storico. I can't wait to go, though I'm thinking it will be strange this time.

Please do get your Florence report in! We are panting...

andrys -- thank you for all your compliments. Your pictures are lovely, by the way.

Yes, I'm mulling over posting some of my own.

sandra -- sorry to keep you panting!
I'm recovering from a sinus infection (that has infected the whole family). So I've been going to bed early and not sitting down at the computer.

By the way, at the moment, I'm standing at the computer, because my kids are awake and we don't have chairs in the house. You can probably imagine why, lol. :)

Okay, I've been thinking about this and can't come up with the answer - why is it that you don't have chairs in the house? Can't quite figure out whether it has something to do with children, because everyone else I know with kids has chairs.

bookmarking

Hazel - yes, it is the children. It began about six months ago when they learned that flipped chairs makes a great sound. And if a sibling is on the chair, even better.

Then the older sister showed them how to use the chair to access the kitchen counters, and other non-child proofed areas that held all the really fun stuff - like knifes.

But the boys are young (will be two in October) and they are slowly learning. Hopefully, within the next six months, the chairs will come back during the day. And maybe even the coffee table, too.

hi Myra!

I've been loving your report! I had hoped I might manage to get over to Rome or Florence that week, but it wasn't to be - did you get my email by the way? I am so glad you had a good time.

Anyway, re the chairs - been there too! It will pass, on to the next stage! Someone once asked me 'does it get better?' and I replied, 'well, it changes...'. But try to enjoy it all because it is such a gloriously short time. My boys are 15 now, but I won't alarm you with what they are up to now!

I have my next solo trip coming up early in October, just 3 days in Dubrovnik, and I am so looking forward to escaping from the kids again!

Hi Julia --

I didn't get your email...was it in responce to the pictures I sent, before my trip? I'll try emailing you again.

Yes, I'm at peace with my lack of furniture, or pictures on the walls (since the climb the sofa, which is harder to remove, lol) But it is so much easier than when they were infants! Those were very tough days...

Alright, I brought the chair out to write a little so I'll back to it.

Great to hear from you, Julia

~M

You have email...

Worse case scenarios occupied my mind while I packed my things: the alarm won’t work and I’ll miss my train (pack your toothpaste). I’ll get on the wrong train (check the closet for clothes). I’ll get mugged in the train station -- what time am I setting the alarm for again? (Just look alert, and you settled on 5:50) Do I have everything packed? (I hope so.)

After a restless nights sleep, I woke up strangely refreshed, said a quiet goodbye to my little room with a view and as quietly as possible, dragged my two bags through the hallway and down the stone staircase to my taxi. Fifteen minutes and eleven Euros later, I arrived at the station. It was still wakening up from the night and eerily empty. A few other travelers stood with their bags, checking the computer screens and hoping their train number popped up. Scruffy, lone men wandered.

This sucks, I decided. I rolled my bag around, constantly checking the computer screen, peeking into the closed store windows, always keeping an empty five foot radius around me. This method worked for a while, until I noticed other people buying snacks and magazines, and thought maybe I should get a little something to eat, a newspaper to read. I moved myself near a closed shop, and without anyone around, I un-zipped my large bag, which held my purse, which held my wallet, and began looking for coins. In my periphery vision, I saw her. And she was coming right at me.

OH MY GOD. The hairs on my back of my neck raised, my instinct alert: watch out -- she looks suspicious; her brown leather jacket old, her shoes dirty, hair untidy. She held her purse with a grip, too tight. Okay, stay calm, I thought. Those stories of people being robbed or attacked flitted through my mind. I quickly zipped up my bag, swung it back over my shoulder, and grabbed my roller. She walked towards me, and looked past me with alert, agitated eyes. I glared at her and twisted my body and bags away as she casually stepped around me. I was not the distracted tourist she hoped for afterall. HA! I thought. Bring it on, thieving bitch! Bring - it - on! A bit of adrenaline produced too much bravado and thankfully, I kept it to myself. I successfully navigated away from my first assailant. Perhaps standing with a crowd was a better idea.

More travelers had gathered near the tracks and I joined them. Girls traveling together eyed me suspiciously, with envy or pity, I couldn’t decide. And I envied the couples who leaned on each other for comfort. How I missed Aaron’s shoulder for my weary head. Finally, my train arrived and climbed aboard. Deep breathe and relax.

I rummaged through my bag searching for my Ipod for the 1.5 hour ride. A man sat across from me. He wore reflective sunglasses with a hairstyle and attire that mimicked the late eighties. Definitely not the chic stereotypical Italian we are programmed to admire. But then his cell phone rang, jolting him out of his physical time warp and he purred out a quiet “prego?” Oh, how sultry. That voice makes up for a lot, I thought.

I looked forward to seeing the hills of Umbria and Tuscany for a second time. My first experience was riding shotgun next to Aaron, who drove our sporty Alfa Romeo like an honorary Italian. I was the “panicker” and Aaron was “quick thinker” and together we made a traveling team: I panicked, he ignored me, and it always worked out.

This tour by train was more relaxing but not as scenic. I saw the countryside from a backwards position and all its glory was broken up by numerous tunnels. Rolling green fields covered in pillows of yellow wild flowers - BAM – black tunnel. A mass of red poppies growing next to stone farm house – BAM-- black tunnel.

I arrived in Florence and the station was busy with the quiet roar of travelers. I had the directions to Hotel Casci in hand, and did my best to follow the left here and take a right here, through the tunnel, and then right, then left – oh there was no point. I got lost almost immediately. I’m just hopeless. But I will say, that the underground tunnel was not dark with gangs of kids waiting to rob and stab you, like I envisioned from Rick Steve’s book. It is more like an underground mall: you can get a hair cut, buy a new outfit and jump online to email pictures of your new Italian self to all your friends.

Nothing like walking with the rattle of luggage following every step, reminded you that you are a tourist and you look as lost as you feel. I walked towards the Duomo – a quick WOW – then found my street and actually found my hotel. YAHOO! I didn’t get lost; I just took a very round-about trail to my destination. I stepped into the reception at 9:50, too early to check in, but I was aware of that, no problem. The older woman welcomed me like a daughter. She told me where to put my bags and offered me a cafe and cornetto for breakfast. Si, grazie! I sipped my cappuccino and sank into a quiet excitement; I was in Florence: a new city to explore and create memories, all my own.

I had a couple of hours before my official check-in, and after consulting my maps, I decided to begin my tour with San Lorenzo Basilica, only a block from the hotel.

The church was, well, I honestly don’t remember – so I guess it wasn’t memorable. Or at this point, I had visited so many churches that this one blended in with the rest.
I forgot to go the Bibliotheca, which I’m sure would have been remarkable. But the San Lorenzo market – wow.

Leather belts, purses, gloves and wallets smothered the stalls in a wide spectrum of color and filled the air with the rich smell of leather, enticing me to buy something – anything! Lots of tourists were shopping and meandering; women pet and squished bags while their husbands rolled their eyes or hammered out a price with the shopkeeper. I felt light and euphoric and the urge to buy was consuming me. Well, I did promise Aaron a new wallet…

I handled a few and the man pounced. I explained I wanted a man’s wallet, something thin. He showed me a nice one, for 20E. Oh….hmmm…too much. I’ll think about it. Okay – 15E! I didn’t know this was a haggling place – I’ve never haggled before! Good thing to know. But I moved on.

The Medici Chapel saved my wallet, momentarily. After the medal detector, I entered a white crypt with low arched ceilings, filled with tombs (and bones?). Is this it? What a disappointment! How…boring. I saw a staircase that I assumed was the exit and started to leave. But it wasn’t the exit….

When I turned the corner and entered the octagonal Medici chapel, my jaw dropped and I uttered one of biggest, most surprised “WOW’s” of the trip. It felt bold and powerful –a refreshing change from the cathedrals and their soft frescos. My inner mineralogist gawked at the large feldspar phenocryts inlaid within the granite, the ribbons of squished iron-rich minerals in the marbles, the pebbles sliced and shiny in the polished conglomerate. Some mountains are missing some spectacular rock. And we get to admire their natural beauty in the mosaics of this Medici chapel. This was a major highlight of my trip, and a great introduction to the Medici legacy.

The outdoor San Lorenzo Market led me into the indoor Mercato Centrale. Once again the sights and smells excited my senses. Butchers sliced colossal slabs of meat into steaks. Roosters and rabbits, with heads still attached were piled in the display cases, next to tubs of tripe and intestine. I tub of pig snout caught my eye. I took pictures of the barrels of sardines, Aaron’s favorite.

Other stalls sold a rainbow of pasta in various shapes and sizes, including hearts and the Duomo, bottles of olive oil and bags of dried herbs, mushrooms and tomatoes. Upstairs was the grandest “farmers market” I ever witnessed: purple artichokes and onions, cabbages, strawberries large and petite. Within the tourist mayhem, regular folk bought their produce, chatted with shop owners, lived an ordinary day. I bought a basket of strawberries for 1.20E and completed my lunch-to-go with a panini from downstairs.

Outside again, surrounded by wallets, I made another try for Aaron. I found a wallet I liked: thin, plenty of slots for cards, black, soft leather. The young guy said 23E.
Oh that is too much.
What do you want to spend?
Hmm…how about 15E?
15E….I can sell you this other wallet for that. Y
eah, I don’t want a brown wallet. I really wanted the black one, but I not for 23E…
How about 18E, he replied.
Deal, I said.
My first haggle – I’m sure it wasn’t a bargain and perhaps I got a bit ripped off, but it was more fun than I expected and I happily skipped back to the hotel to officially check in.

Mebe,

Thanks for the update to the trip report - I always get a bit worried when trip reports aren't finished :(
Hope all of you are feeling better after having sinus infections - I sometimes get chronic sinus infections...you feel horrible, tired, and well, sinusy.

I shouted with laughter with your description of your early morning in Termini - as I was reading, I almost thought you actually shouted 'Bring It On!' to the woman. As a solo traveler, you must have been worried about that for a while, and I can only imagine how great you felt for having stared down a possible pickpocketing!

Your descriptions for the San Lorenzo food market are lovely - I'm a bit jealous since we arrived to late for the food, only for the clothing/leather market.

Can't wait for more!

Ah mebe, as usual I am so enjoying your trip report, I am travelling right along with you. I think the price for the wallet was good, Italian leather is so wonderful! I love, absolutely love your ability to describe what you saw, how you felt, you are a talented writer! And leaving the train station, been there, done that, beautiful memories! Where am I? Is this the right way? LOL. Sending you a hug and hope you are feeling better. It has been so hot here in the Sacramento Valley but it sounds like the weather will get much cooler starting tomorrow. That is great except the extreme change always causes a lot of us to feel miserable too. Can't win for losing, sigh.

Wishing you and your family a lovely Labor Day weekend!

Such a wonderful trip report, mebe!!

Keep going mebe! What a delightful travel report! Looking forward to the next installments.

Yes -- I'll keep going until the end. No Olympics or political conventions (for a day or two) or Netflix or sinus infection to distract me this weekend. :)

Loveitaly -- hasn't it been hot? We have fog this morning -- what a blessing.

Anna - lol. I wish I was type to say that stuff out loud.

I'm trying photobucket out -- so before I put the effort into a trip album here is one of the boys...

http://i387.photobucket.com/albums/o...oys-on-bed.jpg

Oh my gosh!!

Send them to our house.

My girls love rambunctious, cute little boys.

They are delightful - and with a bit of the devil in their eyes...

gruezi

Lol, Gruezi.

Your girls can watch my kids while we hit the town :)

Hotel Casci consumes one floor of the building, I assume, since each room is attached to a long, hallway with twists and turns, a few steps up and a few more down. My room was next to the laundry room and was a little underwhelming, like I stated before. I ate my lunch at the little desk; with the door (and only window) open and discovered the dank inner courtyard and wafting sewer smells. But it was raining and church bells were ringing and I decided that sound overruled smell, for now.

I had a reservation for the Uffizi at 3 pm, which gave me time to shower (and dry off with the equivalent of a dish towel), change clothes and do a little sightseeing along my way. The hotel was two blocks north of the Duomo and all its tourist mayhem. The line into the Duomo wrapped around its massive side, but there wasn’t a line into the Baptistery.

The Baptistry was a delight. I love mosaics and the mini golden squares created an exquisite picture. I was baffled that people would rather see the inside of a cathedral than a circular room with a golden ceiling. (I was even more baffled after I visited the Duomo interior myself, but I’m jumping ahead…)

The walk from the Duomo down via Calzaiuoli to the Piazza della Signoria was jam packed of people. Driving in the historical center is limited, because the roads aren’t for cars – they exist to fit the constant parade of people. It’s like us foreigners took over. Screw the sidewalks – we want the road! I would recommend the city to anyone taking their first trip to Europe who was worried about culture shock. Want a hot dog? No problem! Follow the neon bright signs -- they sell them along with burgers and fries and sodas with ice! Don’t speak Italian? No problem – neither do we! Alright – that last part probably isn’t accurate. Okay, I’m done ranting.

Almost done… my negative reaction to the crowds in Florence was comparable to my first visit to a National Park. Growing up my family spent a week or two camping in the Sierra Nevada: hiking four miles with heavy pack, beds were sleeping bags on the ground (tarps for rain), we ate off a campfire, played in a roaring creek, watched for rattlesnakes and the bathroom was a quiet place behind a tree.

When I was twenty and experienced my first National Park (Death Valley), I was horrified by not only the people in skirts and strappy sandals, but by the grocery stores, restaurants, hotels and flush toilets. It wasn’t the wilderness experience I was used to; it was an outdoor tourist trap. There was no struggle to survive, no suffering. Florence wasn’t the Italy I was used to: signs were in English, the people spoke English. I know - Rome isn’t off the beaten track, but perhaps because it is bigger it feels easier to avoid the crush. Alright, I’m done. Swear this time. Moving on…

At the Uffizi there are several lines: tour group line, reservation line and a non reservation line. But before you enter the reservation line (window 1), you must cross the courtyard and wait in another line (window 3) where they turn your emailed confirmation code into a legitimate ticket. At window 3, they only let you in 10 minutes prior to your scheduled reservation – arriving early just guarantees a longer wait. A group of us pretended to nonchalantly wait, until the guard gave us the okay -- then casual turned rabid mania and we all made a mad dash into the room to line up at the two windows. I took the window on the left and another couple took the window on the right.

The two ladies working the windows were in the middle of a chat which took precedence over us. Oh, this is classic-- this lives up to that Italian stereotype! I could chuckle and enjoy the “cultural experience” because I was lucky. My lady processed my ticket while listening and laughing at her friend, who continued with her dramatic tale, with her back to the couple patiently waiting at her window. The tourists gave up and left to stand in the line forming behind me. Gossip lady lazily spun her chair to face her window, now empty, and seeing no one there, spun it back to her friend to continue her story. Hilarious.

I had my ticket! And I sprinted across the courtyard to window 1. I’m not sure who I was racing or why my spontaneous competitive spirit. Running from window to window wouldn’t guarantee a better museum experience. I was one person on the museum highway – people would always be in front and behind, no matter the speed I ran. But there is something satisfying about being first in line; and oh so crushing when reality hits and a colossal tour group empties into the museum before you. Yet the lone traveler always has the advantage against the group – no waiting for the slow pokes! While the group attached their head gear, I ran up two flights of stairs to beat them. Again, not sure why all the dashing; yes, I was in front of one massive group but right behind another.

The Uffizi is known for its crowds. But the museum was populated mostly by tour groups, which was a bonus – it condensed a lot of people into one room, leaving other rooms almost empty. Some rooms I rushed through (I missed Michelangelo) but in others I lingered in a near empty room, and drank in Titan, Lippi, Caravaggio and Botticelli. I thought of my Mom, the artist of our family, and wished I shared the experience with her.

After 1.5 hours, I was done. I’m a brick girl and not an art girl; I can absorb only so much before colors and images blur into each other; and the halls were muggy and stuffy with the rain outside and body heat inside. I was drained; I needed a rest and something to eat. But before I left, I hit the gift shop and emptied my wallet on prints and books.

And yes, I ate pizza for lunch. (I wasn’t aware how much pizza I ate, until I started writing this report…) I didn’t write down what type but I do remember the woman was very friendly, only spoke Italian (which I loved!) and along with my pizza I ordered a warm Coke (for caffeine) and an orange pastry for dessert.

I wandered my way back to the hotel, sticking to the smaller side streets and avoiding the tourist runway. I was still trying to get a feel for the real Florence. I expected the streets to be dark and narrow and feel more mischievous and a little more ominous. I had read “The Birth of Venus” and I was trying to find her Florence and a taste of the Renaissance. And though I tried not to, because it isn’t fair, I found myself again comparing it to Rome.

I discovered Osanmichele and gazed at the lovely frescos and ornate white altar while I rested my feet. Outside, I watched an Italian almost back their car into an American woman, making her spill her drink all over her white shirt. She was not pleased. I tried hard to not giggle. And I also saw real Florentines living normal lives on Italian streets filled with cars. I know that in the off-season this would be a marvelous city, and I won’t give up on it yet.

Back in my olive toned room I took Tylenol for my florescent-light induced migraine and called Aaron. Anarchy in the back ground: hubby scrambling to keep kids content (a fruitless act), the boys’ ride-on cars screeching out Winny the Pooh songs (that I’ve heard a million times). I talked to Ada and she said “Hi Mama – you’re a poo-poo head,” which to her, is a term of endearment. I was touched. I spent the rest of the evening with legs too tired to walk and forced to flip between CNN and MTV. Tomorrow I climb the Campile and visit Santa Croce.